For You, and Your Denial
by BeGodlyBeLynn
Summary: When Craig Boone fell in with the Courier, he didn't quite know what he was getting into. As luck would have it, her name was that of his dead wife, and his wounds were far from healed.
1. Nameless Basis

1: Nameless Basis

**A/N: This was done courtesy of the Fallout kink meme, which asked for a Courier whose name is Carla (with no relation to Boone's late wife) but keeps it a secret for fear that he'll feel uncomfortable. Angst ensues. Enjoy! :D**

It was still dark when Carla finally returned to the dinosaur with Crawford's bill of sale. Wordlessly, she showed it to Boone.

"I guess it's like them to keep paperwork," he said quietly, his voice toneless. She couldn't get a read on his expression past those shaded eyes. She just stood there, waiting for him to say something.

When he remained silent, Carla spoke up. "What will you do now?"

Boone shrugged. "I don't know. Sure as hell aren't staying. Maybe I'll wander, like you."

Carla scrutinized the man for a while. He was a damn good sniper, if not lacking in conversational skills, and frankly, she was worried about what he might do if left to his own devices. Before she could stop herself, she found herself asking the question.

"Why don't you come with me?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"I thought snipers worked in pairs."

Boone considered this. After a bit of deliberation, he nodded.

"Huh...being on your own, you're a lot less effective. I hadn't thought about that. Fine. Let's get out of here."

They sat now in her Novac motel room, Boone quietly smoking a cigarette and Carla nursing a bottle of whiskey. It was near sunrise, but neither sniper or courier was particularly inclined for sleep, so they sat up, awake, staring each other down.

Finally, Boone broke the silence.

"What should I call you?" he asked abruptly.

"Huh?" Carla's head snapped up and she brushed her hair out of her face.

"What's your name?" he repeated.

"Ca-" She stopped herself, remembering the name on the bill of sale. Carla Boone. It was just sheer, dumb luck that she shared the first name of his late wife. She avoided his eyes, afraid that he would see through her.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Just-" She was blushing now, she knew. "Just call me Courier," she muttered.

"Noted."

The rest of the night passed in silence.


	2. Odd Appearances

2: Odd Appearances

It was cold that night. Boone sat in his perch overlooking the wasteland, keeping watch. Beside him, he could hear Veronica snoring quietly on the ground. That woman could fall asleep at almost any time, a skill valued in the military, and one Boone hadn't been able to master since…well, since Carla's disappearance.

Carla. The name still tugged at his heart. It had been a while since he'd come back from his shift to realize that she was gone, but he couldn't help feeling nostalgic. Where would he be now if she'd never been taken? What would their child have looked like? Would they have gone back to the Strip? They were all questions that he so desperately wanted the answer to, even though he knew they would never come whether he wanted them or not.

"...going to find out one way or another. What's the big deal, anyways? It's just a name."

Boone paused, suddenly jerked out of his reverie. Arcade was arguing with someone a short distance away. Although he knew he shouldn't, he froze and listened, turning his head slightly to the side.

"It's complicated! He—he was really torn up. You don't know what he's been through—"

Courier's voice, hushed yet loud enough for him to hear, was full of annoyance and underneath that, sadness. Boone frowned and strained his ears to hear their conversation.

"And neither do you—how do you know he's going to have a breakdown? You can't keep this secret forever. Not unless you want to ditch him—"

"Are you crazy? Hell no!"

Were they talking about _him?_

"Well, then, you might want to come clean. If not tonight, soon."

There was the crunching of gravel and Boone hastily returned his eyes to the east, towards Fortification Hill. He could feel Courier's hot gaze on his back, watching him. He tensed, wondering if she knew he'd been listening, but if she did she gave no indication of it. She let out a long sigh and came over to Boone.

"Get some sleep, I'll take the rest of the watch," she said. She sounded tired, her voice heavy with resignation. Wordlessly, Boone nodded and got up, finding a spot on the ground to close his eyes and try to sleep.

The last thing he saw before exhaustion took over was Courier, turning over the red beret in her hands.

Later that night, just as Boone was getting some shut-eye, some more muted voices penetrated his blanket of oblivion. Cracking one eyelid open, he saw Courier and Arcade talking again.

"…believe that your name is really 'Courier'? Come on, Ca—"

"_Shhhh!" _Courier cast a nervous glance at Boone, to verify that he was still asleep. Evidently he passed the test in the bad light, because she turned furiously back to the doctor.

"God dammit, Arcade, don't go around saying that out loud! Why are you even bringing this up with me again?" She sighed angrily. "I guess you were right when you said you weren't good with people."

"You did not just go there."

"I sure as hell fucking did. _Drop it_, Arcade. I'll tell him when I think he's ready."

Silence fell on the scene once more, and Boone felt the hot gaze of Courier on his form. He resisted the urge to shy away from her prying eyes and instead continued pretending he was asleep, but it was evident in the way that she didn't look away that she knew that he wasn't asleep.

* * *

Boone dreamed badly that night.

In his sleep he returned to Cottonwood Cove, watching through his scope as Legion fucks made offers on what no man had any rights to, offers for his wife and child. He was back in that place, lying on his stomach a thousand yards away. He saw the terrified look on Carla's face, his name on her lips as she prayed for someone, anyone, to come save her… He had to end it. There was no way he could fight past all of them, and there was no way he could track her to Fortification Hill. Anything was better than this. Anything.

Even death.

Boone pulled the trigger.

But instead of ripping through her skull, by some miracle, he missed, and the bullet whistled past her ear, taking off a piece of it. She screamed and fell to the ground, sobbing, unable to staunch the blood with her hands tied behind her back. A legionnaire's eye imploded and he collapsed, twitching and gasping. But that hadn't been his target and he seethed in anger, at the Legion and at himself, for failing.

The slave auction erupted into chaos. The slaves were pulled to the side as the Legion pulled out their weapons, searching for the unseen assailant. Boone saw none of it. He only saw his wife, blood dripping down her face, growing paler by the second. Tears fell from her eyes and her lip was bleeding—she'd been biting down on it so hard, because of the pain. She was getting weaker and weaker with every step, and still the legionnaire pushed her forward.

And then Courier was beside him, pulling him away.

"We can't save her," she shouted, and suddenly it was Carla's voice. "You couldn't save me," continued Courier-Carla. "Now come on. Just leave."

Boone woke with a start, sweating. That dream had taken a…rather interesting twist. Courier's appearance in his dream was completely uncalled for. He looked around and saw Veronica's indignant face in his peripheral vision, rubbing her temple, realizing, to his chagrin, that he'd accidentally kicked her in the head.

"Sorry," he muttered, and lay back down, waiting for sleep to come, even though he didn't want it.


	3. Blood

3: Blood

Of course Boone didn't believe that her real name was "Courier."

Nevertheless he played along, if not grateful for companionship than another opportunity to get out into the Mojave, hopefully for some serious Legion-slaying action. (He was never wanting for that; it seemed that Courier was some sort of Legion magnet. Boone's rifle was rarely idle.)

But as she had started picking up more companions, he had started to get the feeling that Courier was hiding something from him-something big. Against his better judgment, it spurred his curiosity.

The signs would have been obvious even if he weren't a sniper. She always avoided his eyes when he was in the room with her and someone else, be it Arcade or Cass or Veronica. Instead, she'd be scrutinizing the third party, as if waiting for them to screw up in some way. How that could happen in a casual conversation he had no idea, but it disturbed him-it was as if they were keeping something from him.

Neither Arcade, Cass, nor Veronica used any name other than "Courier," although the way they'd say it always made Boone think that there was a double entendre to the name-some sort of double meaning. He never said anything, though, for fear of feeling stupid. Hell, maybe she didn't remember her real name. The odds of that, however, were marginal.

As his suspicions became more prominent, so did what he identified as feelings for her. She was by no means the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but that wasn't to say that she wasn't a looker. Her dark eyes, dark hair, and relatively pale skin often made Boone wonder if she'd originally come from a Vault. She wasn't the most charismatic of people, for sure, but she was damn smart and possessed an uncanny ability to navigate the most hostile of minefields. Always resourceful, blunt, and to the point, but never the most proficient in combat. There was something else, too, an aching sense of familiarity, that perhaps he'd known her in another life. It was almost as if she reminded him of Carla…but nobody would ever be like what Carla was.

Sometimes, he just took out the letter he'd written for her oh so long ago and read it, over and over, and try to put himself in her shoes by reading the letter. He wondered if she'd continue to grieve for him, or if she'd bravely push the tears back and move on. She would have been strong. Not like him.

And that alone was why he struggled to push away the feelings he associated with Courier. It was a betrayal. At least, it felt like it. Sometimes, he heard Carla's voice under her own when she spoke to him, as if it was his late wife telling him it was okay to move on…or not.

_Jesus._ He didn't need this crap.

Craig lay now on his stomach, his eye pressed to his scope, surveying what he could through the small telescopic sight. It was a place that was very familiar to him.

He was back in that place, on that cliff overlooking Cottonwood Cove. The only difference was that Courier was with him now, peering through the scope of her newly acquired sniper rifle. And, of course, no Carla in chains, begging for him to save her.

They'd been in this spot for well over an hour, just watching the Legion outpost with the sun beating down on their backs. As a sniper, Boone was inherently patient, but this was getting on his nerves.

Finally, he spoke up.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" he demanded.

She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she squinted into her scope and squeezed the trigger. The rifle spat a bullet noiselessly, and she gave him the thumbs-up. Time to start shooting.

His first target was a legionnaire he recognized as a Decanus, standing outside the tent with his back to the new body. A single twitch of his finger and down he went, his plumed helmet shattered to pieces. And so the methodic killing started again, sighting one target, then another, then pulling the trigger…

His sights settled on who he knew was an Aurelius, distinguished by the brightly colored plumes on his brass helmet. Evidently, when he saw him so did Carla, because she looked over at him.

"Don't touch his head," she said in a low voice. "I want that damn helmet."

He shot her an incredulous look, but shrugged and instead shot a legionnaire who had appeared on the scene, yelling in furious shock at the heap of limp, useless bodies. His curses died on his lips as the bullet pierced his neck.

The rifle to his left spat out one last bullet, and the Aurelius died noiselessly. Courier got up, her limbs stiff from disuse, and holstered her rifle on her back. Boone followed suit, sitting down next to her.

She offered him some water, which he accepted gratefully. They were silent for a while, eyes sweeping appreciatively over the freshly cleaned base.

Cottonwood Cove hadn't been the first Outpost that they'd wiped out together, but it would not be the last—Boone would make sure of that. Courier had been taking him out on these little Legion-hunting expeditions for hitherto unknown reasons. Maybe she hated the Legion as much as he did. Maybe she just wanted to keep his thirst for Legion blood in check. Maybe it was both…maybe it was neither. In any case, Boone did not argue. Legion-killing was Legion killing, and it still brought the same satisfaction.

Wordlessly, she got up and made her way down the cliff. Boone followed her and they walked down to the base, where Courier wasted no time in turning over the bodies, feeling them for caps, Legion money, anything. She always kept the vials of bitter drink, something Boone had never understood, until he'd seen her emptying out the contents and replacing them with an array of the toxins she enjoyed manufacturing at the campfire.

Finally, with the Aurelius' helmet tucked under her arm, they left, headed for Camp Searchlight. It was a long hike until they reached the irradiated camp and Courier reported her findings to Sergeant Astor. And then they left.

* * *

Deadly Poison 101 came about a few days later.

Arcade, Cass, Veronica, Boone, and Courier were sitting around a campfire, unable to sleep. Instead, they sat huddled around the fire, watching as Courier carefully bottled the viscous substances with an odd look of concentration on her face. They were some ways away from the Strip, their faces illuminated by the fire. Eventually, she started talking, and everyone was inclined to listen.

"Silver Sting was the first recipe I learned," she said. "It's a rather potent cytotoxin. Basically, you get hit with it and your muscles turn into jelly...you're lucky to be able to stand, much less fight...or run away. It's pretty useful for disarming big motherfuckers like you—" her eyes hit Boone— "who get up close and personal to little motherfuckers like me." Smiling slightly, she bottled the stuff and tucked it in her bag before pulling out another vial.

"Mother Darknesss is pretty awesome, too," she continued. "Hallucinations, weakness, numbness...the entire party. It's kind of hard to concentrate on a battle when you're tripping balls with blood pouring out of your arm. It's great for...well, anything, really. Real nice. And then, my favorite."

She held up an unmarked bottle. The light of the flames reflected eerily on its curved surface, giving it a mysterious look.

"Bleak venom." Her eyes looked to everyone around the fire. "I'm sure you've all heard of this one."

In fact, Boone had. Bleak venom was an extremely potent and extremely illegal poison. At peak doses it could kill a fully grown man in under ten seconds. The NCR had banned its manufacture and distribution in California, but hell, that didn't stop anyone who wanted from making it in the dark recesses of their own homes, away from prying eyes. A lot of deaths could be attributed to this nice little poison. It wasn't a pleasant death.

The first few seconds was numbness, followed by excruciating pain as your blood cells literally imploded, often forming painful clots and bursting out of the blood vessel. In a worst-case scenario, the affected area turned dark purple before the victim expired. It wasn't a pretty sight, and it was slightly disturbing that Courier had the knowhow to create such a deadly device of...well, destruction.

Boone wondered why Courier was telling them this, but he figured he'd rather not know.

As he lay on the ground that night, trying to sleep, he heard the muted voices of Veronica and Courier, almost overshadowed by the roaring fire.

"_Damn_, Carla. Remind me not to ever fuck with you."

His blood turned to ice.

_Did she say 'Carla?'_


	4. The Lies We Tell

4: The Lies We Tell

Boone woke up sweating from a nightmare of, guess who, Carla.

It wasn't the Carla he dreamt about in the norm, though. Not exactly.

In his dream, Boone found himself confronted by his dead wife once more. She was paler, ghost-like, standing before him. Dream-Carla was not at all like the Carla he had euthanized at Cottonwood Cove. Her face was clean of tears, blood, and sweat. She was in a dress much like the one she was wearing when he'd first met her, and her belly was swollen with their unborn child. She smiled at him.

"Carla, I—"

"Shh," she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't say anything."

"Carla, I'm sorry…I'm so sorry."

"Don't," she begged, stepping closer. "You did what you had to do, Craig, and I forgive you…he forgives you."

"If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times," Boone said bitterly. "I don't really believe in a God."

Carla shook her head. "Not God." She took his hand and laid it on her pregnant belly. "This guy."

He gazed at her, transfixed. He knew it was a dream, he knew it was going to end, but he silently begged the Courier, wherever she might be, to just kill him now so he could spend this moment with her, forever, with nary a care for the living world.

She touched his face and drew him closer. "I forgive you," she repeated. "But you have to keep living."

She kissed him, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her. Carla bit his lip gently, just like she had when they'd first started courting, but she bit down harder, hard enough to draw blood. He yelped in shock and pulled away, bleeding.

There was blood on her lips, too. Suddenly her eyes were entirely different…dark and angry.

"You," she rasped, furious. "Why…?"

Boone's eyes were wide as he felt his lip. It was bleeding, but there was something else.

Pain, unbelievable agony, ripped through him and he cried out, catching himself on a wall he didn't even know was there and he realized what must have happened without knowing how…

Bleak Venom.

But…that was impossible…

Boone turned around and suddenly Courier-Carla was there, wiping blood off a knife, looking up at him nonchalantly.

"Carla!" he shouted, getting even more confused when his wife replied, "I'm here, Craig."

The Courier said nothing, merely tugged his hand and dragged him off towards a place unknown, towards darkness, and…

Boone woke with a yelp, scrabbling for his rifle. He felt something brush against his arm and whipped around, almost hitting the Courier in the face. She flinched and grabbed the rifle, forcing it down with an alarmed look on her face.

"Boone," she said. "Dammit, I've been saying your name for, like, ever. Are you okay? Because we need to go, like…now."

He glowered at her, hitching his rifle over his shoulder and grabbing his things. "Yeah, I'm ready…Carla."

Confusion flashed in her eyes. "I'm not Carla," she said.

"Yeah, you are," Boone growled. "I heard you talking last night. But you sure as hell aren't my wife."

"Boone—"

He stood up, walking away from her. "Come on, _Carla_," he snapped. "Thought you said we had to go."

Speechless and agape, Carla picked up her things and beckoned for her followers to trail behind her as she fell into step behind Boone, giving him a confused look.

* * *

The next few days gave Carla little time to dwell over what had happened that morning. She could only go about her life as usual with her companions in tow, taking on whatever assignments came her way and hoping that Boone would never bring up the fact again.

But then again, she did—she wanted so badly for him to talk to her now that the truth was out, talk to her one-on-one, so that she could make him understand why she'd lied. But Boone remained in the recesses of stony silence, and she worried he might do something drastic.

Carla made a point of keeping Boone in her sight at all times. Whatever errands she ran, however redundant, always entailed Boone as an escort. If he noticed anything, he didn't raise a whisper of protest. She did notice, however, that his poker face was plastered on more so than ever. She still couldn't get a word out of him, though, so eventually she abandoned this approach, choosing to leave him at camp in favor of more loquacious companions.

Finally, after two weeks of Boone's silence, she couldn't take it anymore. She dragged him out of Camp McCarran and towards Fiend territory, to finish up the bounty Major Dhatri had posted. She made a point of not letting Gorobets bring his team out to take care of Driver Nephi. No. It was time to wrest the truth out of Boone.

* * *

They lay on their stomachs now, side by side, watching Violet in her shack, along with her canine entourage. The helmet on her head was absolutely hideous—wasn't it _heavy_? It wasn't as if these Fiends needed any more pressure on their noggins.

For a tripped-up madwoman, however, Violet looked oddly at ease. It didn't stop the Courier from putting a bullet in her chest. She dropped silently, dead. One of her dogs padded over, sniffing her tentatively, and howled. Boone almost felt bad for putting it down, too.

It was over within a few minutes, both dogs and master lifeless in their former home. Boone hitched his rifle on his back and sat up, taking a swig of water, and snuck a glance at Carla. She was sitting, too, staring at her hands. The silence hung heavily in the air, and it was a long time before she found the nerve to speak.

"Time to talk," she offered meekly, glancing at him.

He resisted the urge to snort. "I'll say."

She lifted her head, gazing out at the hills in the distance. "Past few weeks…haven't had much time to ourselves," she said quietly. "I guess now's as good a time as ever."

Boone shrugged, trying to find an appropriate word to describe what he was feeling at that moment. Admittedly, it was hard. There were a lot of people he could see through, people that he could read easily, but he was not one of them. It was rather ironic, but it was the reality of things.

Finally, he settled for one word.

"Why?"

"_Why?_" she repeated, disbelieving. "Boone—you _know_ why."

He looked away angrily, seething, but he realized that she was right. He thought of the days back in Novac when he'd load the pistol and press it to his temple, ready to pull the trigger, before tossing it into the corner of the room in disgust. He thought of Nelson, when he'd blindly charged into battle with every intention of dying and no intention of staying alive. He thought of those cold, lonely nights on guard duty, reaching for his hunting rifle and closing his lips around the barrel. Yes, he knew why she'd hidden her name from him. He knew.

"Maybe," he said finally. "Maybe I do."

There was another pregnant pause. Carla drew herself up next to him, avoiding his eyes. She kept them fixed on the lights in the distance, towards the Strip. She sighed.

"I don't know what you want me to say to you," Carla admitted. "I wasn't counting on you finding out, and yet…I wanted you to, so that maybe…"

She didn't need to say the rest.

"I didn't want to hurt you, not after reading your wife's name on that bill of sale," she said. "But after Nelson…that's when I decided that I would never tell you my real name. I—"

"You didn't think I could handle the truth," he finished. It was not a question. It was a statement, a fact waiting for confirmation.

She was silent. That was all the confirmation he needed, getting to his feet so he towered over her.

"You thought I couldn't handle a name—a _name_. You know what? I could handle Bitter Springs. I could handle putting bullets in women, and children, and the elderly. I could handle coming home after my shift to see the room empty, and Carla, _gone…_I could handle tracking her for four days—I shot her in the head and watched her brains implode…and you thought I couldn't handle knowing your _name_."

Carla still said nothing. She was worrying her lip with her teeth and Boone didn't need to be a sniper to know she was holding back tears.

"Well, I did!" He found himself shouting, but he didn't know why. "You know what it's like, coming home to see your wife is gone? Having to splatter her brains against the nearest Legionnaire, knowing that you wanted to kill him instead? Do you know what it's like, being ordered to kill _children, _watching them scream as their mommies and their daddies died?

"I know what it's like!" he shouted. "I know exactly what it's like, and I'm fine with it. Don't—" he pointed an accusatory finger at her— "Don't coddle me. I don't need you."

But then she was on her feet too. Her dark eyes swam with tears, but behind that there was a strange, steely determination and Boone faltered. She could see right through him, he realized. She could read his façade, and his mind, like an open book.

Just like Carla Boone had been able to.

"You don't mean that," she countered, and behind the challenge there was tenderness. And he knew she was right, and god _dammit_ did it hurt like hell—

"Come on," he managed, trying to inject as much anger into his voice as possible. "We've got Fiends to kill." Without another word, he stalked off in the opposite direction.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" she demanded. When he didn't respond, she ran up, grabbed his arm, and pulled. Fuming, he turned around, only to freeze up when those piercing dark eyes of hers met his, hidden beneath his sunglasses.

"Cut the crap _right now_, Craig Boone," Carla growled. "I'm going to ask you this once, and you'd better be straight with me. Do you want to leave?"

He opened his mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but those choice words died in his throat. He turned to face her, the façade gone. She had effectively melted his wall into a molten puddle of vulnerability.

Her eyes bored into his head, and he found himself struggling to answer the simple question. It was simple, a yes or no question…but somehow, he found himself speechless.

Finally, he swallowed hard and found his tongue. "No," he whispered. "No," he said more clearly.

He didn't know what he had expected her to say, but he was slightly disappointed when she only nodded and let go of his arm. Her eyes were softer, however, as she patted his shoulder.

"Come on," she said gently. "We've got a head to hunt."

Boone followed her to the dead Fiend, unable to force down the warring emotions fighting in his chest. _God dammit.

* * *

_

** A/N: Sorry for the late update. This story is probably going to wrap up in another two chapters or so, but until then...**

**-BeGodlyBeLynn**


	5. The Things We Do

_Desperation kills__  
__But when it's on your sleeve you wear it well__  
__Underneath it all  
You'll always have this war inside yourself  
_-Yellowcard, "For You and Your Denial"

5: The Things We Do

Carla was not surprised when she woke up one day and realized that Boone was gone. Disappointed, maybe, but not surprised. A part of her knew he'd probably be back. The other part knew that he probably wouldn't. There was really no predicting when it came to Craig Boone.

The man needed his space, she knew. But there was a place to draw the line, and disappearing in the middle of the night was surely toeing it just a little. What if he did something really rash, like go to The Fort and take out his frustration on the Legionaries? (That would be, in a word, bad.) Carla worried, but she didn't do anything. There was no way of knowing. For all she knew, he might have just rented a room at the Tops to think things over for a bit.

It was after the first five days that she began to think of doing something. Boone was a valuable asset to her team, especially with that Anti-Materiel rifle that she'd spent a fortune on. But it wasn't just that. She…well, she liked him. Maybe a little, maybe a lot, but there was just something about him that she couldn't get enough of no matter how hard she tried. It was hard to put her finger on it; maybe it was better not to know. Mystery was always a nice element to add to such things. Well, sometimes.

Veronica assured her that there was nothing to worry about; Boone was still a grown man with his head screwed on—perhaps it wasn't screwed on the way most people's were, but at least he knew to stay away from danger. Carla had scoffed internally, knowing that he probably didn't know. She had a feeling that his wife's death, coupled with the revelation of her real name, had blurred the lines greatly for him. In any case, the suspense was too much for her. One day, she packed her things, strapped on her armor, and left the Strip without telling anyone goodbye.

It was just like the old days of travelling on her own like a lost puppy, with nothing but her shadow and her weapons to keep her company. A couple of tumbleweeds raced past her. _Wind-brahmin_. She smiled at the memory.

The gates of Freeside and the scattered Pre-war buildings around it fell away into the Mojave wasteland. Carla walked, taking careful, measured steps towards the place where she'd first found Boone. She was headed for Novac, partly to check on her stuff. She hoped that nobody was that torn up over Jeannie May's death. It would suck to be run out of another settlement for something like that.

Somewhere during her journey, the little voice in the back of her head told her that Boone probably had not returned to the place where they'd met. Her feet carried her instead towards Cottonwood Cove, the Legion outpost where he'd killed his wife.

By the time she finally got there, Carla was tired and sweating like a pig, the pack she'd brought chafing into her shoulder. Her feet ached and all she knew was that if Boone wasn't here, she would be very upset at him and the world. More so than usual.

The Legion slave trading camp was just as they had left it, ransacked and littered with dead bodies. She dropped her pack and walked through the camp, feeling a little uneasy. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it made her hairs stand on end.

"Right between the eyes," came a voice behind her. Carla turned around, startled.

Boone was there all right, and he wasn't alone. In his hand was a .9mm pistol, and it was aimed at her head. She frowned. It was déjà vu—kind of. Except this time, she wasn't incapacitated.

"Right between the eyes," he said again. His voice was barely a whisper. "That's where I shot her. Right between the eyes."

Something in the back of her mind told Carla that this was a good time to panic, but she stood her ground. For some reason, she felt no fear. Instead, she simply felt a strange feeling of peace. She slowly put her hands up.

"What are you doing, Boone?" she demanded to know. "Put the gun down. We can talk about this."

He shook his head. The gun in his hand was shaking slightly. "No," he said. "No, I can't."

"Why?" Her eyes never left his, but she couldn't read them.

"I can't take it," he ground out. "None of it. I see her every time I look at you, you know that? Ever since I found out the truth. It's too much."

"Boone—Craig—"

The sniper stiffened, squeezing his eyes shut. "You sound just like her when you say my name," he whispered.

Carla was silent, her eyes wide. She couldn't find her words anymore.

"I loved you, you know that?" he continued. "I really did. But I can't love two Carlas. I can't. I won't."

"Then don't," Carla growled. "I didn't ask you for love. I asked you for companionship." She said the words even as she felt her heart breaking, splitting in two like the rift that had torn her parents apart. She swallowed back a lump in her throat.

"You were wrong," he said. "You do get punished for what you've done. You were wrong about everything."

"Then why are you pointing a gun at my head?" Carla demanded. "If you want to break the cycle, do you think this is redemption?"

"You don't know how many times I've dreamed of you. Both of you," he said, his voice shaking now. The hand holding the gun was starting to shake.

Carla realized that no amount of talking would change his mind. Not now. He was too far gone. Tears gathered in her eyes at the thought that despite everything, he was the one person that she couldn't save. And that was the irony of it, that even though she had changed the lives of so many, it was the man she loved that she could never fix. And it was in that moment that she decided that she was not afraid to die for him. No matter how much it hurt.

The gun shuddered once, and then it was over.

* * *

Boone slowly lowered the gun, listening to the sound of the gunshot echoing off the cliffs. Carla slowly dropped to her knees and keeled over, a bloody wound on her forehead. Her blue eyes were glassy in death, open in an everlasting stare at nothing. He stared at her for a long time, but instead of feeling peace, he felt even more torn. How many more people would he kill to find redemption? He turned his eyes towards Fortification Hill, and he found his answer.

The NCR was responsible for all this, he realized. They were the reason that he had enlisted, and the reason why he had felt his conscience shattered at Bitter Springs. Was it not an NCR commanding officer who had given the order to fire? Was it not an NCR general that had denied everything that had happened there?

But his hatred for the Legion eventually overtook his disappointment at the New California Republic, as did grief that both the women he had ever loved were now dead, and both by his hand.

He got down on his knees and turned over Carla's corpse. She was beautiful, even in death, her face marred only by the gore from her death wound. Slowly, as if he were in a trance, Boone reached out and gently closed her eyes. He crossed her arms over her chest and stood up. She looked strangely peaceful. It if were not for the blood, she might have been sleeping.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Boone walked away from her body, headed for the docks. He stepped onto the raft and crossed the river.

He never returned.

**A/N: Haha, wow. Is anyone still reading this? I'd be flabbergasted (to use Harold Camping's word) if anyone still was, not to mention totally flattered. Anyhow. Hope you enjoyed, and **_**please**_** leave a review! Who doesn't love reviews?**

**This turned out darker than I thought it would, and frankly I don't know how well it flows but I'm all for a short, clipped tragedy. *Sigh* I'm going to hell one day. Please, someone slap me if they think Boone is OOC. That would be my only regret in life were I to die tomorrow. :p Stay tuned for the epilogue!**


	6. Epilogue: For the Ones We Love

Epilogue: For The Ones We Love

_And so it was that the Courier's story was cut short. Although the Mojave was forever changed by her actions, she never lived to see the ramifications of her deeds, both benign and evil._

_Although her contributions helped greatly in the NCR effort, it was not enough to turn back Caesar's Legion. The two warring factions remained at a stalemate for many more years until eventually, the weight of the NCR's bureaucracy and the growing unrest among its troops culminated in an all-out civil war. As the NCR imploded, the Legion took the Mojave Wasteland in a seething wave of red._

_Veronica, torn by the loss of the Courier, wandered the Wastes as a tinker until she picked up a mysterious signal coming from an abandoned Brotherhood bunker. She followed it to its source and was never seen again._

_Cass, too, became lost without the Courier. She eventually traveled to Zion with the Happy Trails caravan and never looked back. She disappeared into the North, where her destiny is said to be entwined with that of the Burned Man._

_Without the promise of adventure and the chance to make things right in the Wasteland, Arcade returned to the Old Mormon Fort. When the Legion approached Freeside, Arcade did his best to help people escape with adequate supplies. A Legion explorer spotted him evacuating locals and pointed him out to a centurion. Arcade's group was gunned down near Westside. There were no survivors._

_Boone, driven over the edge by his conscience haunting him as well as the woman he left dead in Cottonwood Cove, fought at Fortification Hill the way he wished he'd fought the day his wife died. Scores of legionnaires fell in his path, but he was inevitably caught and crucified. Caesar commended him on his reckless abandon. Boone spat tobacco in his eye for all the Legion to see._

* * *

_If you'd seen Craig four years ago, you would've never recognized him._

_He was a true patriot, loyal to the NCR and the people in it. Young, idealistic, and loyal. Although he voiced his doubts about some things that they did, his loyalty was first to his family, and then to his country._

_You should've seen his face when he was chosen for First Recon. Oh, he was so excited. That was a great day for everyone. He went off to the Mojave, always making sure to send back half of his paycheck to sustain the ranch, as well as a letter on his latest exploits. He was a pioneer, sent by the NCR to claim the frontier._

_But somewhere down the road, he got lost. The letters stopped coming. He lost sight of his morals, and I don't think he ever found his way back._  
_I always wondered, but I suspected that I knew. Something out in the Mojave made him see the NCR differently. Something caused all his doubts about them to spring into terrifying reality. It took a long time for me to figure out what, but I found it. Bitter Springs._

_The name is fitting for the pain it caused Craig Boone._

_I don't know how he died, and I'm not sure that I want to. I just hope that somewhere, out there, he's found peace._

Amy Boone thanked the young trooper sadly and shut the door softly. She turned around and looked at the object in her hands: a red First Recon beret with a silver dog tag stitched to the fabric. Her son's name was engraved on the thin metal. Holding back her tears, she placed the ensemble on the mantle and stared at it for a long while, wondering. Wondering why it had taken three years for his body to get to her.

* * *

Lashed to the cross, Boone watched the Legion disperse with a quiet sense of achievement. The bodies of the fallen were strewn across the battleground, being heaped into trenches by their still-living comrades. Redemption would never come, he finally realized. He would still be judged for the blood he'd spilled at Bitter Springs. But now, as the end was so near and the pain made his vision go white, he realized that he'd made a terrible mistake.

Suddenly, he yearned for the vivacious young Courier named Carla. His only solace was that he would be joining her soon.

* * *

Heaven was not, as he had predicted, a dark abyss where he'd be punished for his deeds on the living Earth. Instead, Craig Boone found himself walking on an empty road, with the Mojave spilling out on either side. But it was a different Mojave, not ravaged by war or radiation. Tiny lizards darted around on rocks. Little ants scurried here and there in crevices in the road. The sun was bright, but not overpowering. He was no longer in his blood-stained fatigues. Instead, he wore a simple white shirt and a pair of pants. His dog tags were cool against his chest.

Craig found that he was no longer weighed down by the burden of his actions. Instead, he watched them from a different standpoint. As he walked, flashes of his life passed by beside the road. He walked along, quietly watching and taking in the atmosphere.

In the distance, he saw a lone figure standing on the road, waiting for him. As he got closer, his heart skipped a beat.

It was Carla. Not the Courier, but his late wife. Her dark hair billowed softly in the breeze and her full lips parted in a soft, welcoming smile when she saw him.

"Carla," he whispered. His voice was full of awe.

"Hi, Craig," she replied gently. She held out her hand. "Will you walk with me?"

**~FIN**


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